Young Again
by ChangingTheWorld
Summary: Sherlock wants to create a way to make people younger again and tests it on John and himself.
1. Chapter 1: A Sip Away

Sherlock gazed out the window of 221B. He couldn't see a thing. "It's so peaceful out there, quiet and calming… It's sickening." He turned and tied his bathrobe around him, stepping forward and on to the coffee table. John looked up, quite irritated, and ruffled his newspaper again.

"Where exactly are you going?" John set the newspaper down and picked up his coffee. Sherlock looked up in disgust. "John, I am simply going to the kitchen. You worry too much." John picked up his newspaper again. "I wonder sometimes…"

Sherlock had been known more than once to ruin the flat while in the kitchen. His experiments usually ended very badly, and if not they were disgusting. He didn't want to be around the kitchen when Sherlock was doing… _that._ John decided that it would be best if he left; Sherlock didn't like any noise, and John didn't like concentrating Sherlock.

"I'm going out, we need more milk," John said as he opened the fridge. He walked towards the door and slipped on a coat. "Go ahead, you do that." Sherlock muttered, carefully dripping water down into a container. John raised an eyebrow, but did nothing despite his suspicion.

John slammed the door as he left. The flat was quiet.

Sherlock added the final ingredient to his test; a test to see if there was a mixture that could make someone shrink. It was not useful and highly unlikely, but if it worked it would be so much fun to play with Lestrade. Sherlock chuckled.

He wouldn't drink it himself, instead he would put it in John's tea. He knew it was a bad idea if John found out. He never did get over that time in Baskerville… He wondered if it tasted of anything. But, of course, Sherlock was hesitant to try it, as he didn't know if the effects would take place immediately or later.

Reluctantly, he sniffed, and took the smallest sip. He twitched. Nothing happened, and he realized it tasted like water. He warmed the kettle, then put the mixture in it. He laughed, and it wasn't exactly a warm, welcoming one.

The door screeched open, and Sherlock changed his laugh into a cough and cleared his throat. "Hello, John," Sherlock said, stepping out of the kitchen. John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock didn't usually welcome him home, even if he was doing nothing. "I kept your kettle warm for you," Sherlock smiled an awkward, crooked smile. He hadn't done so in a while. As polite as Sherlock was, John was suspicious. His politeness caused that.

"Right… I'm going to make some more tea and don't bother me the rest of the evening; Doctor Who is on." John unloaded the bag and began to make his tea. He put away the milk, and Sherlock watched intently, quivering with excitement and waiting till John finally drank the tea.

John sat down with his cup and turned on the Telly, switching over to his preferred channel.

As John continued drinking, nothing happened. "Are you ever going to do something besides watch Telly?" Sherlock groaned and changed positions in his chair again. "Your show is completely impossible and quite honestly mind numbing. The laws of atomic displacement do not allow for a blue box to be larger on the inside. Completely impossible." John groaned from Sherlock's ceaseless torture. "How do you explain black holes then?" John said quietly, not moving. "I don't concern myself with that junk; it isn't important. Clouds what is." Sherlock scoffed. John just groaned. "If you don't enjoy the show, you could just leave! Either way, just _shut up!_ "

Eventually, Sherlock did get bored from being silent and went into his room, and sat down at the computer.

Only hours later did he remember his experiment, but had lost all memory of drinking it himself. His eyes opened wide and he slammed down his computer screen and thrust himself out his door. "John!" Sherlock fell down the few steps. John whizzed around and saw Sherlock crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. "Sherlock!" John bolted upright and ran to help his friend. "Oh Sherlock, what did you do!" John helped Sherlock to his chair. "It's not that bad," Sherlock said, looking down at him as his head pointed up, trying to keep his nose from bleeding. "Well, yes, but we can't risk it getting worse." John gave Sherlock some tissues and water, and sat on a stool beside him.

"I miscalculated, those steps are much larger," Sherlock looked around to the steps, his nose beginning to stop bleeding. "Yeah," John tried to focus on the steps, drifting away. "Speaking of, everything is larger." Sherlock commented, his head drifting from this place to that.

John looked at the ground, then his eyes widened and his brows furrowed. "Heh, yeah." John smiled. Then he realized. It was quite obvious who was behind this."Sherlock," he said in a rough, low voice. "What did you do." John had a murderous glint in his eyes as he looked into Sherlock's, and his face was shadowed. Sherlock looked to his side guiltily. John flipped his hands around and fell on to his back and off the stool. He closed his eyes, and in a dry voice said, "It was the tea. It was the damn tea wasn't it!" Sherlock looked down at his feet.

John pressed his hands against his face and sighed. As he removed his hands, he saw they weren't wrinkled from age. He paused. He furrowed his brows in confusion.

Slowly, he got off the ground, passing Sherlock as he sat in his Mind Palace. He went to the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with his eyes closed. Slowly, he opened his clenched eyes. He saw something that surprised him. He saw the wall. The mirror was high above him. He groaned. Slowly, he crawled on to the sink and saw something that he wasn't expecting.

He wasn't shorter. At least, it wasn't just that. He was a child. A young version of himself. "Sherlock!" John slammed the door open, his face bursting with rage. "What the bloody hell did you do to me?!"Sherlock cringed back in fear, reluctant to answer. Even as a 12 year old, John was at the very least frightening. "Sherlock," John said, breathing heavily. "Why?"

"It's an experiment," Sherlock replied quietly. "I aged too." John flipped his hands in the air and they landed with a slap by his side. "It's always. Always, always for an _experiment._ Of course," John rubbed his head. Sherlock looked down at his clothes and saw that he had outgrown them. "At least our voices are the same." Sherlock commented, trying to roll up his sleeves but failing miserably. "Sure, that's going to be normal, just two young kids and one speaks with the _voice_ of _Smaug_ and he is the seven year old!" John's voice quivered in worry.

"John, relax, the effects will wear off in… I don't know, about a week," Sherlock smiled, thinking that was good. "A week!" John shouted. "A whole week, what if we get a case!" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "That's not going to happen in the course this month has been taking."

"Could you two lower it down a bit? It's getting awful loud." Mrs. Hudson knocked twice, and lightly on the door. John and Sherlock stared at the door, hoping she wouldn't come in, but Sherlock still knew she would. "What's all the fuss about anyway?" And then, Mrs. Hudson opened the door, and screamed.


	2. Chapter 2: Landing A Case

"Who are you!" Mrs. Hudson kept gasping, and had a very frightened look on her face. "Calm down Mrs. Hudson it is an _experiment._ " Sherlock turned to look at her, and found she was more frightened from his voice. "A bloody bad one at that!" Mrs. Hudson dropped her hands to her side. "I told you Sherlock, this was a bad idea, and now we don't even have clothes that fit!" John pointed to Sherlock accusingly. "Everyone calm down, we can get some clo-" Sherlock's phone buzzed.

He grabbed his phone and looked down. "It's Lestrade," Sherlock flipped his phone around with an annoyed, and somewhat tired look on his face. "And?" John and Mrs. Hudson leaned forward. "There's a case." Silence fell over the flat. A look of silent rage spread over John's face, Mrs. Hudson looked worried for John, and Sherlock was running ideas through his head for a quick antidote. "People won't let you go anywhere without an adult. I can come with you," Mrs. Hudson offered the two of them. "Thank you very much," John sighed and walked out the door. "Come along dear," Mrs. Hudson put a hand on Sherlock's back and led him downstairs.

The ride was silent, and when they arrived at the crime scene, looks of curiosity came as of why two children and _Mrs. Hudson_ were there. Lestrade came up immediately in order to keep everyone's attention on the case. "Um, Evening, Mrs. Hudson," Lestrade said with small pauses in his sentence. "Why are you here?" Mrs. Hudson looked down at John and Sherlock. "Well, I'm taking genetically altered Sherlock and John to the crime scene." Lestrade paused, then chuckled. "You're saying these kids are Sherlock and John?" Mrs. Hudson glared at Lestrade. "Yes, I am." "She's not lying, you know," Sherlock said, his deep voice surprising Lestrade. Lestrade narrowed his eyes then they widened. "What the hell-" Sherlock went under the police line tape as John followed, for once being taller than Sherlock. "Come John, we have crimes to deduce," Sherlock said with a quick stride, leaving Lestrade with a finger in the air and an open mouth. He looked at Mrs. Hudson and closed his mouth. "Don't ask me, it's beyond me," she replied to his stare. "See for yourself."

Sherlock walked around the dead body examining closely. He muttered quietly to himself. After a few minutes, he got up from his hunched position. When he did, everyone was staring. "Don't worry, Lestrade has explained," John said to Sherlock. "Ah," Sherlock said quietly. "Female in her early forties, happily married for about ten years now. Worked in theater, obvious piano player, and has had one child who died at an early age." Everyone stared at him still not believing. John looked worried, and added in his input. "Amazing!"

"John, I can't find anything that might have killed her. Could have been gas," Sherlock looked at John. He looked back, but bent down to examine the body. He pressed on her back, for she was lying face down. A small spurt of water came out. "No, drowned of the sort. Obviously not held under water, as she is completely dry, and hair like that takes at least ten hours to dry out completely." John ruffled her hair, and it was extremely thick. "No sign of struggle or anything?" Lestrade looked down at the body. John stood up straight. "Nope."

"How old is the body?" "About four hours old, from what Andersen can tell," Lestrade pointed to his back to Andersen standing behind the car. "Andersen is here," Sherlock scrunched up. "Yeah, he is." Sherlock was silent. "I need to talk to her husband. He might know something," he looked up to Lestrade. "I'm not sure he would be ok with that," Lestrade said as Sherlock passed him and headed towards Mrs. Hudson. "I don't care what he is ok with, he's going to get it done anyways!" He slammed the car door shut. John jogged after him and as he passed Lestrade, apologized for his behavior.

They drove off, and the night closed in at Baker Street. "So dull, all of them, placid, straightforward minds…" Sherlock said, looking out the window. "Don't be too rude, dear," Mrs. Hudson cab stopped and Mrs. Hudson got out, followed by John, then Sherlock. She walked them up, then left to her room. "If you need me, just holler," Mrs. Hudson said, mostly directed to John.

Sherlock took off his jacket and hung it on the coat racket, his clothes that finally fit him, were luckily a suit. He sat down in his dark purple button shirt, with the buttons done up with the top two undone. John sat down next to him in his jumper and tea, setting it down on the small side table. They sat close, very close together with a blanket over them. It had stopped raining, but this particular night was freezing. "Want to watch Doctor Who?" Sherlock looked up at John from his fetal position. "You don't mind?" John looked down in curiosity. "Well, if you like it, I might as well learn to," Sherlock chuckled and smiled, a heartfelt one too. John grinned and turned on the tv. Half way through the episode, Sherlock had fallen asleep on John, so John turned off the Telly and fell asleep as well.


	3. Chapter 3: Childhood Trouble

Lestrade quietly walked up the stairs to Sherlock and John's flat. He looked around as if he was guilty of something. Slowly, the door creaked open and his head popped through the door. "Sherlock? We have a new lead on the case," he spoke quietly. Hesitantly, he walked in only a few steps, then saw Sherlock asleep on top of John, curled and fitting perfectly together. "Oi, this is _so_ not my division…" Lestrade blushed furiously. "Wake up you two lovers!" Lestrade yelled over the couch.

Sherlock got up lazily with his hair in a big black mess and tired eyes. Soon after, John got up with a hunched back, and wrapped himself in the blanket. "Come on you two let's go!" Lestrade pushed the two of them, who had fallen asleep in their clothes.

Sherlock groaned, mumbling something about a TARDIS. John elbowed Sherlock lightly and chuckled, but then resumed his run over look. Lestrade stepped on the blanket that covered John. "The blanket stays," Lestrade bent down and pulled at it. "Get off my blanket!" John tugged it and began a tug war between Lestrade and two children. "Give it!" John yelled and yanked at it. "No, you can't bring it!" Lestrade tugged, unbelieving that he still hasn't won.

Mrs. Hudson jogged up the stairs. "What is going on, it's so loud!" She saw a war between Sherlock, John, and Lestrade and burst out laughing. "Must I call Mycroft?" Sherlock and John looked over saying, "Don't!" Lestrade looked with pain in his eyes and whispered, "Please."

At last, Sherlock counted down from three and they both jerked it back, and won against Lestrade. He fell to the floor in defeat of two children. He groaned, getting up. "Fine, take it, but let's _go_!" Lestrade pushed them out the door as they huddled together in the blanket they both wore.

The taxi parked in front of the Buckingham Palace. "You've identified the woman, she works for the Queen, doesn't she. Probably a personal maid, judging by her earrings," Sherlock finished on a quiet note and opened the car door and got out, holding it for John. John got out and looked at him with a partially open mouth and narrowed eyebrows, his mouth curved in a smile. Sherlock coughed out a laugh.

Lestrade pushed him forward. "Yeah, that's right," Lestrade said with a very annoyed voice. As they walked, they could see Mycroft in the front. He wore a suit and was leaning on an umbrella, a always. "Look, we're visiting the Queen!" Sherlock said to John when within earshot of Mycroft. Mycroft immediately narrowed his eyes and bit his lip. Lestrade tried to hold back a laugh, but John didn't even attempt to.

"Now you two lay low and quiet, I already told Mycroft about your little mishap," Lestrade leaned down to them. "You took all the fun out of it!" Sherlock looked up and laughed along with John. Lestrade looked upward and muttered, "God help me," and looked so finished. Sherlock and John acted like children all the time, but now it was definitely showing, since now they even looked like them.

They neared the door, and they could see Mycroft properly, and he could see them as well. "Hello, brother… of.. mine?" Mycroft looked down with a scared, surprised, and confused face. "You didn't tell me they were this young! I thought you meant, fifteen!" Mycroft groaned. "What have you done…" He sighed. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Come on Fatcroft, where are the woman's living quarters?" Mycroft looked down at little Sherlock, who looked so much like older Sherlock. "Alright, fine. Come along," Mycroft sighed, taking his umbrella as a cane. They walked through the palace with Sherlock and John wearing wrinkled clothes and messy hair, and a blanket over them. Much like the last time they were there, except now John was in on it.

"Children, right?" Lestrade pushed Mycroft a little. Mycroft looked down at him with a bitter expression and wiped his shoulder that had been shoved. "Yes, people…" Mycroft cleared his throat.

After roaming around and many questioning stares, but no one daring to say a thing due to Mycroft, they reached the living quarters of the woman.

The site was clean; dusted and waxed as it seemed. Sherlock noticed many things. "She has O.C.D. but wasn't doing a good job as a maid. Her pay got cut, so she tried working harder. Didn't have much time for a social life, did she…" Sherlock muttered quietly for a bit. John stood quietly by him.

"Would you hurry up?" Mycroft rubbed his temples. "Yeah, not much here, I thought I said get associated with the _husband_ not the _room._ " Sherlock glared upwards as he walked past. John had zoned out, but on realizing Sherlock was gone, jogged out.

Sherlock loaded himself and John, as well as Lestrade into the taxi. While they sat in back, Mycroft sat in the front with the driver. The car went on again, directed towards her house this time. This time though, Mycroft went with them to be the second father with Lestrade. "Come now Sherlock," Mycroft pushed Sherlock out of the car.

They could extract nothing from the husband; he was in shock when they told him. "She's been dead for three days! How could you not have noticed that she was gone?!" John flipped his hands above his head. "John, it's quite obvious, even you should be able to get it," Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder. John thought for a moment. "If she was busy and had a cut pay, she probably didn't want to waste the energy in the house so instead left for her living quarters in the palace," John said in the exact voice of Sherlock. They were both surprised. "That was, good," Sherlock said, taken aback. "Yeah," John said, giving a threatening look.

They turned home that day unsuccessful.

"You better work on an antidote. I hate this," John hung up his coat. "Yes yes John, very well," Sherlock strayed into the kitchen. In the other room Sherlock heard the tv come on, and John put in a disk. "What are you watching?" Sherlock said, not interested in his experiments. "Just watching The Hobbit. I can really relate…" John stopped talking, knowing that Sherlock didn't care. "Do go on," Sherlock said, sitting on the back of the couch with John in between his legs. "I like Bilbo, he's really easy to relate to,"John looked up at him. "Obvious why," Sherlock said quietly. The movie began to play, and a soft melody came on. "Really? How?" John focused on the screen. "I don't think you care," Sherlock got quieter, intrigued by the movie. "We'll talk later," John chuckled softly. Sherlock slid down the top of the couch and sat next to John.

This time, they finished the movie, partially because the movie stopped near the end due to a power outage. Sherlock looked outside. "It's snowing," he scrunched up. "Great, we don't have heat," John grabbed another blanket.

Sherlock got back under the blanket with John and curled up. "It's freezing," Sherlock said, a puff of warm air coming out. "No shit, Sherlock," John said, and grabbed another blanket. "No, it's below freezing temperature. Anyway, if we sleep, our bodies will produce more heat. Fall asleep," Sherlock said, and began to fall and rest.


	4. Chapter Four: No Luck Date (Mystrade)

The sun rose especially strong. John awoke first. He got up, not really caring if he disturbed Sherlock or not. He didn't wake him. He put the kettle on and relaxed in a chair. He watched as Sherlock roused from sleep. "Heat still not working?" Sherlock was dizzy and drowsy, his hair a mess. He slipped on his bathrobe. "It was the acid wasn't it…"

John looked up. "Acid?"

"You seem surprised. Why are you surprised?" Sherlock scrunched up his face. "Why am I surprised? People don't usually carry around acid, or ever work with it _at home_ ," John said, laughing in order to not beat him. "Well I'm not the usual crowd, as you should know…" Sherlock drifted off and straightened his bathrobe.

"There is hot water on the stove if you're interested," John got up and began to pour it into a porcelain teacup. "Not interested. We need to talk to the husband," Sherlock pressed his hands together. "You're mind is always on work," John sat back down.

The kettle began to boil, and steam arose from it, the steam was the only heat in the room. "Kettles boiled," John grunted as he got up from his chair. "Yes, I can see," Sherlock pressed his hands together gently. "Water's open, if you want any," John poured the hot water into a large coffee cup and began to sprinkle it with crushed coffee beans. "I don't," Sherlock said in his usual dark voice. 'Wow, tell us how you really feel. How about eggs?" John mixed up his coffee. Sherlock paused for a moment before speaking. "Sure," he swayed his head over to him, but minimally. "How would you like your eggs?" John set his coffee aside and put the pan on the stove. "Benedict," Sherlock said and stood up, walking over the table and to his bedroom. "I'm going to dress," and he shut the door.

A knock came at the door. "Boys?" The door opened without another word. In walked Andersen. "Hello, John," he walked in with his regular scowl on. "Is that an Anderson I hear?" Sherlock called in from the other room. "Yes, quite right, now get out here," Anderson leaned towards the door. A quiet scoff came from the room followed by a quiet, "As you wish, then," and the door opened.

Sherlock walked out in his trousers, but had ceased to yet put on a shirt. "Oh god," Anderson covered his eyes. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes!" John slammed down his spatula. "John Hamish Watson!" Sherlock replied with a slight smile. "Put your shirt on," John and Anderson said in unison. "Fine," Sherlock muttered, then strode back into his room.

"I am here to take you to Mr. Mortier's house, husband of the woman on the case," Anderson groaned out, rubbing his temples. "Finally!" Came a shout from Sherlock. He strut out the door and with a swift move grabbed his coat and flung it on. "Right then, let's go," Anderson walked out the door sighing. John jogged after Sherlock's long steps.

"Was there anything strange about her? Was she talking to someone? Anything?! Sherlock slammed his hands down on the table, across from Mr. Mortier, whose first name was Adam. "No, Zoe was very, very open about everything going on. She tells me everything," Adam replied quietly. He had a shaky, quiet and scared voice. Although Sherlock was small and innocent, he was extremely intimidating.

Sherlock looked at him, hunched and standing, unmoving, with his hands still on the table.

"He knows nothing," Sherlock muttered quietly. "What?" Lestrade, who stood in the corner with John gave Sherlock the oddest look. "I do so believe that your hearing is fine, even though you are wearing hearing aids implanted deep within your ear thus invisible. Besides that, with those you should hear fine, you know what I said." Sherlock spoke quickly and quietly, then left. John followed quickly after.

They returned to 221B to think. "Well, now the husband is out of the way, got any ideas?" John inquired on Sherlock. "Three," Sherlock responded shortly. "Mind telling me what they are?" John requested. "Yes," Sherlock sat down and pressed his hands together, placing them beneath his chin. John stood still. "Right," he said finally, and sat down at his desk continuing his blog.

Sherlock did not move much after that. He played his violin, but eventually went back to his stationary position. John did not realize, but all the while he was not thinking about the case. He was thinking of an antidote to their problem of being children. Sometimes he forgot they were.

"Crumpets!" John shouted out of nowhere. "Problem?" Sherlock asked. "Powers out and I've run out of battery!" John groaned and leaned back, letting his head droop off the chairs edge. "Yes and the Telly won't turn on and I can't think," Sherlock whimpered. "Call Mycroft!" John cried out quietly.

Sherlock took out his phone and flipped it open, texting Mycroft, "I need help, Baker Street, a matter of national importance!"

"Texted him," Sherlock announced. "He gets a text like that he'll be here in under ten." In the ten minutes, Sherlock slid off his chair and rolled onto his face in the floor. On the other hand, John fell off his chair and attempted climbing onto the couch, but with no luck but falling on his back on top of Sherlock. "Get off me!" Sherlock elbowed him. Slowly, John rolled off him and hung his body over the armchair of the couch.

Mycroft arrived as Sherlock predicted; in ten minutes. He burst in with his umbrella, his face smeared with worry, to see Sherlock in his bathrobe drooling on the floor and John looking like death. "Oh, good god!" Mycroft scrunched up. "Help," Sherlock whispered in a groggy voice. "Our power is out," John whined. "You need to get some air," Mycroft grumbled and picked them up by their shirts.

"Where are we going?" John asked and looked out the window of Mycroft's car. Mycroft coughed before speaking. "Dinner," he said and stopped the car at a nearby restaurant. Sherlock groaned again. Mycroft opened their door. "Let's go," he said. "Can't keep him waiting," Mycroft hustled them out. "Who?" John asked. Sherlock opened his mouth to say, but Mycroft cut him off. "You will see quite soon," Mycroft interrupted.

The doors swung open and the three of them walked in. "Hello, I am with the party under the name Greg?" Mycroft said to the counter lady. "You're going to have to be more specific than that," she chuckled, acting as if they were normal people. "Lestrade," Mycroft leaned in. She shook her head and pointed left, where at a booth table sat a silver haired man.

John gasped and Sherlock shook his head. "It was a date, but we interrupted it," Sherlock held back a laugh. John snorted but to their luck held it in.

Mycroft began to walk over with John and Sherlock, who were about waist level with him. Greg put down his menu, and, looking down, saw John and Sherlock there before seeing Mycroft. "What are they doing here?" Lestrade heaved a sigh. "They were destroying their flat so I brought them along," Mycroft said, not realizing that Lestrade was in fact quite mad. In their luck, Lestrade did nothing but slam his menu shut and lie it on the table, then set his head down. "I'm done, I am so done, please just kill them! They taken over Scotland Yard now they are taking over my life!" Lestrade cried out. "Isn't that the same thing?" Sherlock said with a smirk. Mycroft sighed.

Lestrade calmed down, and finally resolved that Sherlock and John were not to make a word and if they did, they would spend the night at Anderson's house along with Donovan. When Mycroft and Lestrade told them this, Sherlock looked scared and at most confused, while John mostly looked horrified and scared out of his wits. Most likely even more scared than he was in Afghanistan.

"Can we eat?" John asked after sitting down next to Mycroft, for they also decided that would be a better idea than having Sherlock and Mycroft next to each other. "Yeah, fine," Lestrade said, but buried his face in his menu.

Sherlock crawled into Lestrade's lap to get a look at the menu. It was dark, and Sherlock decided maybe he ought to talk about the whole dating problem. "Why are you dating my brother?" Sherlock looked up to where Lestrade's head was, hunched over and blocking the light. Lestrade opened his eyes and glared. "That little Sherl is none of your business!" Lestrade hissed out. "Fine, fine, but you don't have to worry. He isn't cheating or anything," Sherlock shrugged with a smile. "Thought so. How did you use your brilliant deductions this time?" Lestrade whispered. A muffled voice came out from the other side of the menu. "Greg? What are you doing with my brother?" Mycroft. Lestrade popped his head out and with wide eyes said, "Talking."

"Food is here!" John grinned. Sherlock crawled out from Lestrade's lap. The waiter, whom was male, set down the plates with a quick comment to lighten what seemed like a dim mood. "You have wonderful children!"

Silence. They all stared at her, and in their minds decided it was best to go with it than argue. Lestrade didn't do much thinking, just blushed a lot. "Thank you," Mycroft spoke, attempting to lighten the even damper mood. The waiter smiled a crooked, meaningless smile and hesitated to leave, but eventually left.

John forgot the whole incidence and began to eat, trying to ignore the awkwardness floating around the table. Lestrade was the second to begin eating, then Sherlock, and then Mycroft. The night was silent, to say the least, from that moment on.


End file.
